All dance occurs in the three dimensions of space and the fourth of time — but it can be a beautiful shock to feel the invigorating intensity with which the South Indian classical dance form of Bharatanatyam brings all those dimensions keenly to life. On Monday evening at La MaMa, in one of the opening events of the weeklong Drive East festival of Indian music and dance, the dancer Nivedha Ramalingam stretched to the back of the stage with her right arm, then with her left, each time turning from the front with a 180-degree arc. Likewise she ardently addressed the air above her; next the floor below her; and also the space’s various diagonals and horizontals.

Thus her body filled the surrounding box of empty space with tension and energy — all while maintaining a full-bodied flow of pulsating rhythm to a score featuring percussive vocal syllables. These are among the most basic pleasures of Bharatanatyam, but by any standards they are extraordinary. Ms. Ramalingam delivers them and much more complex aspects with terrific skill. Though the three-dimensionality of ballet is among its assets, and though this year alone I’ve seen four of the world’s five foremost ballet companies, none of them communicate physical multi-directionality with such verve.

Drive East is a New York spinoff of the great annual festival of music and dance in Chennai, India. A season of 40 programs, Drive East includes a concert series, an artists’ residency and a summer camp. The performances, at La MaMa, are a first-rate way to deepen our appreciation of India’s performing arts.

I’ve loved Indian dance and music for years, and yet Monday’s performances made me feel — in the happiest way — how ignorant I am about them. The rhythms of India alone are beyond my grasp, the ways in which form and communication connect are infinitely subtle, and my knowledge of Indian culture and religion is slight; but the sensuous beauty of these arts draws me deep in. It’s a good way to feel: as an outsider tumbling into a vast realm of unknown beauty.

Ms. Ramalingam — wearing jewelry, ornaments and several layers of bright orange, red, purple and gold fabric — performed five solos in an hour, pausing only briefly between them. This dancing was concentrated in every sense, with ultralong, tightly packed phrases, several of which won applause through the (taped) music. When one or two items of her apparel fell to the floor during different dances, it just underlined how lively this dancing was.

It was astonishing to see how many parts of the body contributed: spine, shoulders, thighs, eyes, fingers, heels and more. And each of them made rhythm. Eyes alternated between demurely downcast and brightly coquettish in 1-2-1-2 fashion; or the head would address threatening anger along one diagonal and then tender entreaty along another, in conversational give-and-take. Separated fingers splayed in multiple directions, then changed with the fan-like turn of a wrist. The spine tilted pliantly from side to side. The feet skipped rapidly along a diagonal, made various heel-toe-sole rhythms, and quickly bounded back.

The three-dimensionality of Bharatanatyam became a matter not solely of focus and address, but also of line. One dance ended with a wheeling half-circle of a stretched leg from front to back until the foot came to rest on the floor behind, and the body’s complex contour from that rear leg around and up to a front-stretched arm made a gloriously sculptural resolution. Then the next dance concluded with the same movement, delivered a little faster, only then to pivot into an entirely new shape.

And — one of the greatest virtues of Indian classical dance — each work had stillness. After passages of cascading brio, suddenly Ms. Ramalingam would halt, become a work of proud statuary, and breathe. Or she would pause with one leg raised and angled. Even when the stillness was brief, it registered within the surrounding rhythm; but sometimes it was sustained with magnificent calm.

All these elements made this an event of real virtuosity — yet delivered with modesty and charm. I have just two slight reservations. One: I have seen other Bharatanatyam dancers use front-curving arm positions with greater volumetric fullness. Two: Her spoken introductions about each dance could be slower and clearer.

On Monday evening, this recital was sandwiched between two concerts of Indian music, miles apart in style. At 6, Rajas, a collective of six contemporary South Asian instrumentalists led by Rajna Swaminathan, played four structured improvisations; at 8:30, Krishna Bhatt, accompanied by Nitin Mitta (tabla) and Aparna Garimella (tanpura), gave a 90-minute sitar recital. Both programs were superb; I found the sitar concert revelatory. The variety of meter, sonority, pitch and speed that this instrument achieved was transporting, and the interplay with the tabla exhilarating.

The rest of the Drive East festival brings dance examples of Kathak, Kuchipudi, Mohiniattam, Odissi and — rarest here — Sattriya; each has its own well-established rhythmic and physical style, and each can prove addictive. I plan to steep myself in as much as possible.

The Drive East festival continues through Sunday at La MaMa, 74A East Fourth Street, East Village; navatman.org/driveeast.

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page C2 of the New York edition with the headline: Spreading an Ancient Palette in Dimensions Seen and Unseen. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe